Ok, and so you were here, in my city, in my new home (although you never did end up seeing my home and yes I told you I was disappointed because I was but that doesn't mean I should have told you so loudly with that look in my eyes) and I saw you walking my streets. Did it feel large and overwhelming or large and magnetizing or was it just plain big? And on one hand it was amazing having you here, my brother with me in this new place, my brother hugging me and crushing my broken bones with the embrace I have missed. And yet. Every time we parted, if only for a short period, my boots would get heavier. I mourned your departure after your first hour here, and I felt the unfairness of it all oppressing me and the guilt and the loss. For someone who claims to love their family so much, I wonder why I have left so many of them. You are my family and forgive me if I wanted more. I did not get enough. And yes, I become a petulant child when it comes to our “us” and no, I do not really know why, but I am stamping my foot and I am crying with balled fists wondering why I did not get more. I almost entitled this post “excerpt from a love letter written to my best friend's husband”, but that would be demeaning. And sure, I have no problem barraging you with insults (I sure do love that photo where I am tugging your huge, squishy ears, and did that ridiculous zit finally go away?) but hurling insults is not the same as actually insulting you. And so what if people do not understand our relationship or a grown woman writing to a grown, married man, because I don't really understand it but I adore it and I adore you and I wait.